


Burning Arrows

by Crazy_Comet_97



Series: Lighting Strikes Their Eyes....Or Was It An Arrow? [13]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bisexual Oliver Queen, CEO Oliver Queen, Canon-Typical Violence, Death, F/M, Gen, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Island Oliver Queen, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Oliver Queen Wasn't The Only One, Original Character(s), Original Character-centric, Originally Posted on FanFiction.Net, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Protective Oliver Queen, Threesome - F/F/M, Underage Rape/Non-con, mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-06
Updated: 2021-01-06
Packaged: 2021-03-17 01:55:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28592097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazy_Comet_97/pseuds/Crazy_Comet_97
Summary: British citizen Elizabeth Lestrade-Holmes, daughter of Mycroft and Gregory Lestrade-Holmes, was kidnapped off the streets of Westminster when she was 15 and was found in America 7 years later when she is 22 years old, but she is not the same Elizabeth who left. She holds a dark secret and when keeping it starts to spill over when navigating how to act normal once again, questions are being asked.How can she speak languages she never learnt? How does she do advanced military moves without even taking a self-defence class or even stepping foot into a barracks? And more pointedly, how on Earth is she friends with the rich American businessman Oliver Queen? (Originally posted in 2013)
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak, Oliver Queen/Original Female Character(s), Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Lighting Strikes Their Eyes....Or Was It An Arrow? [13]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1851004
Kudos: 7





	1. Prologue

***Flashback***

_A young-looking girl is cornered, frightened by a giant man on a cruise ship. She's blonde and has blue eyes, wearing a small grey dress, sweater vest and tie, socks and shoes, her coat files behind her along with a brown and pink backpack as she runs away from him, only to be grabbed by another out of nowhere. Amidst her screaming, they talk in a foreign language, locking her into a room on the rusted ship they find themselves on._

_Hours pass and soon the men came back, drunk. The ship is strangely still as they do, as if they were docked when before the ocean had rocked her to a terrifying light sleep. Then all the girl feels is pain, so much pain._

_They're torturing her and over the years she will be here, both on and off this boat, many will come across her to both train and torture, the hurting when something's wrong less and less and the nirvana and relief when you get it right. They train her over years to eat less, stay up at night, watch the shadows and observe her surroundings, use a bow and arrow as well as other weapons like a soon to be treasured bo staff for things other than recreation and competitiveness. The blood spattering the floor from a homeless man proves that. Then it's one more, then many in succession. People search, they attempt to capture. It doesn't work._

_Then rich men, powerful men, start to slowly die._

***End Flashback***

* * *

It will be 7 years that will pass her by. 7 years of pain and torture, 7 years of loneliness and missing friends and family, 7 years of killing and becoming someone else. **_/Something/_** else.

She'll be strung out in the dark one moment, then forced out of the shadows in another. she's used to it. America isn't her taste. It's still not. She preferred international countries more, so she found out.

That doesn't matter however, as everything changes once again, She was warned beforehand, however, so, in order to keep the peace and keep the current plan in motion, she plays along and waits.

One day that month, it happens. She wakes to noise like the Earth is shifting, but she doesn't move, doesn't flinch or reach for a weapon. She waits and then it's too bright, her home is usually dark, save for the lamp that sits on the desk beside her bed, it's contents already boxed away and kept safe in storage. Her eyes are closed, but she soon pretends to awake, only to find the window open, the sun shining through and onto her.

The rest of the apartment and it's strange cleanliness is living half in shadow and in light, most of it's brightness from flashlights mounted to rudimentary guns that if armed, would be obsolete in her eyes.

When the light falls on her, her eyes blackened by makeup around them to give off the impression of a malnourished child, do others walk out of the dark, their expressions various on the scale of disbelief.

Surrounded by others. Police, well American S.W.A.T more like and ATF (Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives) as well as FBI officials or people. She didn't really care what they were.

They have 2 men in with them. Her "captors" (paid plants, obviously), arrested and heads down in seeming shame for their crimes. One of the officers that hadn't been staring at her in awe comes in to tell them that drugs were found, weapons as well and are in the middle of confiscation, still checking for more things like records and paper trails. They won't find any, nor will they realize that she has all her own versions of those things. Hers are hidden away in her bag under her bed, the bag she will beg to take with her, claiming it's all she ever owned in life now.

She'll never tell of the things that happened here nor the people she's killed or what the new plan is when they take her. Not alive or in this identity anyway.

The tallest man of all the people surrounding her captures her attention at last. He's familiar, something about him, the way he looks and his clothes and smell, then it hits her like another brick wall. Obvious.

"Uncle...? Uncle, is that you?" She makes her accent British to fool them, eyes watery and glassed over in apparent terror and hope.

She has a million accents and can barely keep track of them normally, but she'll have to attempt to at least, now she's back inside her circle.

Sherlock Holmes stands before what he thinks is his long lost niece, looking at her in barely shown relief. If only he knew. "Yes, it is I, Elizabeth. It's time to go home, your fathers have really missed you."


	2. Return From Purgatory

**Meanwhile a day ahead, London, UK**

> Gregory, love, I just got word from Sherlock. -MH  
> The raid was a success. He found Elizabeth, he found our baby girl. - MH  
> The trace he found that lead to the States was genuine. - MH  
> He found the bastards who took her from us and her as well. - MH  
> They've been arrested. I'll assure you they will have life without parole or hopefully, a death sentence. - MH
> 
> What? Why didn't you tell me earlier!? - GL
> 
> I only just found out myself. She's alive, Gregory. She's alive. - MH  
> God, it's been...7 years. It's been 7 years since our daughter was in our arms. - MH  
> It's been 7 years sicne we sent her off to school for the day and she never came back. - MH  
> She's 22 years old. 22. God knows what she went through. - MH
> 
> Do you know anything about her? - GL  
> Does she remember us? Her old life? - GL  
> Did they hurt her badly? - GL
> 
> She...did remember Sherlock, after a moment of recollection. - MH  
> She is apparently very tall now and looks more like you than I. - MH  
> She did ask about us as well, she missed us, Sherlock said so. - MH  
> She also surprisingly (or unsurprisingly) asked after Hamish and Rosemund. - MH  
> As to if they hurt her, her ankle is currently broken, but it has had medical attention. - MH  
> She will need to wear a moon boot (as they call them over the pond) for a few weeks. - MH
> 
> When do we get to see her? - GL
> 
> I have managed to charter a private flight home for both of them. - MH  
> I have also thanked the Senate for their assistance on mine and your behalf. - MH  
> Are you going to accompany me to Heathrow tomorrow? - MH
> 
> Of course, I will. Don't you dare try and stop me! - GL  
> She's my little girl Mycroft! My only daughter! - GL  
> I would have flown to America in the worst storm Mother Nature herself could produce if I had to! - GL  
> God, I thought I would have been able to catch them. - GL  
> I lost hope at seeing her agaim. - GL  
> Oh my god Myc. Elizabeth. Lizzie. - GL  
> After 7 years of searching, my baby girl is coming home. - GL
> 
> I know. - MH  
> Believe me, I know. - MH  
> Our baby girl is coming home. - MH

Tomorrow couldn't come sooner and at Heathrow the next morning, Mycroft and Greg were waiting nervously, Greg practically trembling in his seat while Mycroft, the usually calmer side of their relationship, was pacing back and forth as the flights touched down and passengers left the exit gate one by one, families rushing toward each other briskly to leave and enjoy their time together.

While he had been part of chartering the private plane, he hadn't managed to speak to Sherlock via phone call or worse, his daughter. God his /daughter/. While Gregory had his 3 boys from his previous marriage and wife, Elizabeth June was their child. His child. His only biological child and only daughter, just as much as she was Gregory's. He obviously loved Keegan, Charlie and Oliver like his own, but Elizabeth was special.

"Do you think she'll have changed too much?" asked Greg out of nowhere, making him pause to look at the man he had called "husband" for almost over 30 years now. "She was away for 7 important years. 15 years old, just starting to be an annoying teenager to now being able to drink. We can never get that back, Mycroft."

"I don't know, my love." Mycroft sighed. "As I told you last night, I am only able to discern from what Sherlock told me, which wasn't as forthcoming as I'd hoped. We'll just have to wait."

Soon enough, Sherlock came through the doors, strolling next to. Next to him was a tall blonde-haired young woman. Her crisp blonde hair was darkened around the top, but lead out to curled and coiled waves of silken light hair that moved when she limped. She wore a grey jumper, blue jeans and black sneakers, one foot covered over by an obnoxiously black boot to her knee, blue eyes scared, but seemingly relieved as she looked around while Sherlock attempted to keep her engaged in conversation, the duffel bag on her shoulder almost making her look shorter. Tinier. Smaller.

Greg gasped. His daughter. His daughter was right /there/. She looked gorgeous, same as she did when she was just a tween, but she also looked wary and maybe even, broken, which made the pain in his chest ache. She seemed like she was scared something was going to happen to her. Like a touch could make her flinch and run for cover. God, he hoped that she wouldn't do that with them. He couldn't help himself and moved forward, not taking his eyes off her. "Lizzie." he breathed, coming to stand a couple of metres away . "Oh, my baby."

Sherlock, nodding their way with a wary smile, nodded in their direction and in seconds, she was looking at them, her face a mask of what she was feeling, obviously slightly in shock at their appearance. But then a smile, a genuine smile like the ones they had missed, spread across her face and her long limbs suddenly carted towards them, limp pronounced but arms outstretched. "Daddy! Papa!"

"Lizzie!" said Greg, meeting her in the middle of onlookers and wrapping his arms around his baby girl, now all grown up. "Oh my god, Lizzie." He felt his husband wrap around the back of them, all three held tightly into a ball as they all tried to comprehend what was happening. That their missing daughter was finally home. Pushing her away briefly, Greg couldn't help but cup her face, his warm palms on her cheeks and tears in his eyes as he looked at her. "I'm so glad you're back. I'm never going to let you go again. My beautiful baby girl."

"I missed you Daddy!" She sniffled, diving back into his neck and holding onto him tightly. Was she crying? She didn't seem to be, but sniffling made him bash the thought out of his head.

"I missed you too" said Greg, after a moment. "You look so grown up, but you're still me little girl. little in every way." he tapped her nose, like he used to do when she was a kid and she rolled her eyes, saying "Dad..." and shaking her head, before ducking it, seemingly embarrassed. "Oh, don't argue with me! You're always going to be my little girl, no matter what."

"Alright Daddy, I give. You too Papa." She chuckled before she winced, flexing her wrist that when the jumper sleeve peeled down, was covered in brusing. At the looks on their faces, she swallowed a bit, obviously in thought and getting Sherlock's attention briefly before she spoke again, snapping out of it.

"Hey, I'm ok. Alright? They hurt me a bit, but I'm okay now I'm home. New York is a rough place, especially when you aren't able to leave your apartment that you're locked into 23 hours a day." Mycroft's brow creased when he saw Sherlock mutter 'New York?' to himself behind her, but Greg couldn't help the horrified look on his face at her words. "You were trapped in an apartment?" asked Greg. Giving he was a police officer and detective, he immediately wanted to know everything his daughter had gone through at that moment, wanting nothing more than to come up with a million reasons to kill her captors. Looked like he wouldn't have to get far. "You know, that given police were involved, you will have to tell us everything at some point. Make a statement."

"I know." She nodded, hand strangely flinching out of nowhere and clenching her bag tightly at the words. "I'm not looking forward to it, but I'll do it if it stops others from being like me."

"That's my girl." Greg beamed and she smiled woefully back. "First things first, however, the force want you to have a medical exam. When you are ready of course. Uncle John has already asked to perform it himself."

Her eyes went wide at the words "medical exam", so much so, that Mycroft intervened, grabbing Greg's hand gently. "It won't be until you are ready, just like your father said. Now, let us get out of this place."

"Your Papa's got a car waiting outside for us." said Greg, as they started to move, his daughter's hand in his and her fathers as they did. He wrapped an arm around Lizzie's waist. "Pulled out the Bently just for you and you alone. It will be like old times." She had to chuckle at that, despite everything she was feeling inside. "Don't I feel like the Queen?" She muttered as they walked through crowds of cameramen and reporters clamouring at them, shouting questions and names at the 3 while people shifted others out of their path, helping them slip into the car carefully and safely, Lizzie leaning her legs out as she sat down, duffel under her, protected.

It was an awkward ride as the car started off, making the freeway before one of them spoke again. "Are you hungry, Princess?" asked Mycroft, using his daughter's old but never forgotten nickname, used by both her fathers, her older brothers and her two cousins respectively. "We can stop for food if you want to eat from somewhere special. I can ask the driver."

She shook her head, however, her expression going from dazed to mouse-like, head ducking again. "Maybe later, but...no, not right now. I didn't really remember what hungry is. Or full, for that matter. It's going to get me a while to get used to...all of this. I mean, 24 hours ago, I was in an apartment eating half a bowl of grapes, if that. A ration, practically. They...'trained' me not to do many things, I can't even blush anymore as they rid me of most of my emotions, so I'm sorry if it seems I'm a freak."

"We can fix that, we can fix all of it. Maybe not right now, darling, but we can try our best to deal with everything as it comes." Greg almost wanted to smash a windowing at how defeated his daughter looked and he was sure Mycroft could sense this as his hand curled over one of his fists and he calmed a little. "The boys want to see you. We've told them they can come on Sunday when you are more used to being home. We've also been redoing your bedroom over the last day, so it shouldn't be too juvenile when you return to it. We had some help from Rosemund, who was quite excited that you were coming back, as was Hamish. He took the train down from Liverpool where he's going to university to come and see you at your leisure."

"Thank god, I missed that nerdy bugger something fierce." She smiled, but there was some stumbling over the word 'bugger', like she didn't know how to say it properly and just rashly spat it out to appease them.

"We've got 7 birthdays and Christmases to make up for as well, so...there might be more things in that bedroom than you'll expect." Greg sheepishly grinned. "Everyone's been saving your gifts for when you came back. The boys. Me. Papa. Your Uncles. I wanted to celebrate for you coming home as well, if you would like to. Whatever you want to do, we'll do it, no questions asked."

"I'll think about it." She smiled after a moment and that seemed to calm Greg's racing heart as they kept driving, pulling up into the townhouses' driveway after 30 minutes on the road. "Has this place gotten smaller or is it just me?" She asked as she got out of the Bently, bag still in her grasp despite the driver attempting to scoop it up for her and failing. "It looks smaller because you're bigger than you were last time you lived inside it." Greg just grinned, happy that she remembered bits and pieces and unlike some of his former cases, had forgotten everything.

He stepped out of the car and held his hand to her, which she took gratfully. "Let Papa take your bag. I'll help you inside and we can settle in the living room for a moment."

"oh, no." She shook her head, almost looking disturbingly aggressive at the mere mention of the bag not being with her for a moment before it disappeared. "I'll be fine. Anything new I should know about?"

"A few things, obviously but they can wait until you've sat down for a while and had something hot to drink and a night of sleep, I'm sure. Nothing much has changed between you Papa and I, if that's what you're asking?"

"No, I mean everything else! You and Papa are unshakeable!" She laughed loudly and Mycroft had to remark, quite proudly, that she sounded like Greg. Of course,e they never mentioned to her that her disappearance had done just that and they had almost divorced several years back. Thank god they held though. "No, apart from the update to your bedroom, nothing has changed radically. You Papa still refuses to clean of course, so some of the dust on your gifts might even be the same as when you were last here." Behind them, Mycroft crossed his arms and shook his head. "You wound me, my dear."

"I thought that might happen, he just doesn't want to get his precious suits ruined." She had to giggle, before straightening ih her best 'Papa' impression, with the stance and everything as well as his cadences as she spoke, accent oily in a lighter tone, but a dead ringer for his own. "I occupy a minor part in the British government, I don't have time to clean. Paperwork is more important than using feathers to counter one's mess."

"The cheek of you, child." Muttered Mycroft from behind them, smirking, but obviously impressed. Greg on the other hand, just smiled at his daughter. "You're getting to be quite the mimic, you know. It's bloody scary how accurate that was. You might have to take your father's phone calls from now on."

"Ha. As if I wouldn't tell the press to 'fuck off' in that voice. Better than you handle them than me." She let her father assist her in getting settled on the couch, propping her injured ankle up with a pillow while his husband moved though to his study (most likely to disconnect his landline) and to talk to his PA on his mobile about the situation. "Don't worry about anything Princess." Greg pressed a kiss to her forehead. "You should come good in a couple of days. Until then, both your Papa and I will help as much as you want us to, before you get sick of us."

"Thankyou Daddy." She smiled, but then yawned. "Right now, the jetlag's hitting me hard. I just wanna sleep for a while. Have a grandad nap."

"How about you sleep down here for a while, and Papa and I will get the cook to make your favourite food for dinner?" asked Greg, sweeping her hair back. We'll just be next door if you need anything. Sound good?"

"Sounds good." She confirmed, eyes half-lidded as he looked down at her. If she could look back, she would remember a younger version of him doing the same when she was a kid after scaring the monsters away from the wardrobe and under the bed, as every kid thinks that monsters exist. Seemed that adults were the monsters they feared. Not that she would say that to them. "I love you Daddy."

"I love you too, Princess." said Greg, slowly moving away as her eyes fully closed and watching her protectively until her breath evened out.

For the first time in several years of both his career and marriage, he felt peaceful and calm. His daughter was sleeping in the room next door and no one was in danger and never would be, again.


	3. Homecoming

A little while later, as the sun set on grey London's shoreline, Elizabeth woke up to the smell of food. Not just any food, but lasagna. Good, homemade, old fashioned lasagna. Her favourite thing in the whole wide world as a kid that came from the Italian side of the family on her Daddy's side, mixing in with the Welsh, Irish and French. Smiling to herself, she got herself up as best she could on her own and limped to the kitchen.

Greg noticed her come in and smiled, gesturing to their old wooden grand table that fit the whole family on it in older times. "Welcome back, darling. You always knew when food was ready. Settle in and we can tuck into the meal that Greta made before she left for the day. She wanted to see you, but I told her you would still be here tomorrow, so when you pop down to breakfast, she'll most likely see you then." Moving to the counter, he put on oven mitts before placing the lasagna in the middle of the table, starting to cut into it. "I know you'll struggle to eat this, but just do the best you can. We have plenty if you want more."

She nodded, picking up her fork when the other two started to eat their meals. As she knew well, her hands started shaking automatically, earning two rather concerned looks from her tablemates that she ignored as she tried to eat her plate clean. Sadly, she only got a quarter though before she put it down, already feeling like she was about to go into a food coma. It wasn't much, but she couldn't eat anymore. "That's a good start." Greg surveyed her handiwork. "Do you want anything to drink? Water? Juice? Soft drink?" She shook her head. "No thanks, Daddy. I'll get one later if I feel like it."

The air suddenly went a little tense as not too long after, Mycroft spoke up. "Do you want to talk about what happened with us, dearest?" asked Mycroft quietly. He knew some of the details from the two men's confessions, but given his Holmes' like senses, he didn't believe some of the information and wanted to hear his daughter's side of the story. He was quite taken aback when his daughter's eyes and face changed to that of a stranger. like a mask had been lifted off briefly, her expression suddenly hard and bitter. "No." She said steely. "There's nothing to talk about." Why did it sound like she had something to hide?

The table was silent, all of them eyeing the others up before Greg calmly said. "Alright, Princess. That's...fine. You don't have to tell us unless you're comfortable. We're just concerned about you, and we want to help you feel better is all." He would remark to Mycroft later in their bedroom upstairs that she looked at them very strangely, like she was analyzing them and waiting for a fight to break out more than watching them. "I know, Daddy." She said, still tensed up. "I'm just not ready yet. I went through a lot. I just want to be here at home first before I...have to talk about that." She went soft at the end, but it still sounded abrasive.

"Princess, we're your parents. You know us. We're the same Daddy and papa you've always had. We're not going to hurt you, or try and trick you into doing something you don't want to. We're on your side, ok?"

"I know, really, it's fine." She nodded her head jerkily as the table was starting to be cleared. A newer maid that Elizabeth hadn't met before suddenly dropped the dessert she was serving at the table and onto the floor. Clearly fearful and quite embarrassed, she started stammering out apologies when Elizabeth spoke in clear Russian tp her. "Нет проблем, я уберу этот беспорядок. Вы можете уйти." (It is no problem, I will clean this mess up. You may take your leave.) Whatever she had said, had an effect on the maid as she nodded gratefully and quickly made off, her shoes barely though the door to the next part of the house before Elizabeth lowered herself to start cleaning the mess the maid had left behind in her wake, her astonished parents watching her in shock.

"You didn't speak that when you left." said Mycroft, raising an eyebrow. "I taught myself using the radio and TV in my apartment. There were only so many channels I could choose from. International programs were one of the only few. I taught myself Russian, Cantonese, Mandarin, Japanese, Spanish, and Arabic. I also managed to retain French and German as well thanks to that so I didn't lose them as much I lost the rest of me." She commented. "Any other talents we should know about?" Mycroft's tone was conversational, but suspicious and Greg couldn't help but shoot him a look to shut his mouth as he bent down to help his daughter up. "Not that I remember. I was usually left alone most of the time unless there was food or I was let out of the apartment, which was rare." She shook her head, sighing. "Can I please be excused to go unpack in my room?"

"Of course." Mycroft nodded, but inside he was spiralling hard. Something had happened to her, his daughter was different. Very different. He loved her still, obviously, but he wanted to know what had happened over those last 7 years that had changed her so much to help her get back to a normal way of life. He had to help her.

But little did he know that his daughter was beyond his help, her eyes blue and unnerving as she left the room, grabbed her bag and helped herself up the stairs carefully. Only when she was on the top floor, did she walk like she hadn't been hurt in the first place, entering her bedroom and surveying it like it was a robbery casing, her duffel bag ending up on her bed as she went looking through it. What was inside was not clothes or food or utilities like you would expect a kidnap victim to have. The only box inside was just a large cardboard one that went next to all the gift boxes on the other side of the room.

Inside the bag instead, were a 6-foot high folded in half bo staff with cattle pods affixed to the ends, several rolls of blueprints, a bulletproof vest and pads, a couple of cans of high-grade pepper spray, blue spray paint and a hooded red, white and blue costume with a mask in the pattern of the UK flag. A perfect disguise for an imperfect girl. She would have admired the kit more had she had the time, but she soon quickly heard footsteps coming up the stairs and stuffed it all back in its place, putting it under her bed and sitting down on the covers, palming them as Greg came into the room, knocking lightly on the door before he entered and then opening it. "Are you alright Princess?" He asked from the doorway. "You seemed a little distant downstairs."

"I'm fine, Daddy. Promise. just tired." She smiled at him, or at least, she tried to. "I think I just need a shower and sleep off the rest of the travelling. Guess I'm not used to being on this side of the world right now." "Well, alright. if you think so." Greg's forehead creased, but he didn't say anything. "By the way, I also got a call from your Uncle John. Hamish has gotten in and he's out of clinic tomorrow. He wondered if you wouldn't mind him coming over and examining you while he's free. It's up to you though, no rushing, he said."

"Oh, I see." She looked a little unhappy at that, but tried her hardest to not show it. "I...guess it would be alright. I might as well get it over and done with. I'll just see how I feel tomorrow. Right now, I have really tried and I just want to go to sleep before my eyes roll out of my head. Say goodnight to Papa for me, yeah? Goodnight Dad."

"Uh...Goodnight, Princess." said Greg, looking a little unnerved by the 'Dad' comment. He'd never been called 'Dad' by her, only his sons. It seemed so formal and distant, like she was trying to force him away, physically and emotionally. He gave her one last look over before leaving the room and migrating to his own bedroom after sitting downstairs with his husband for a while, their low tones not disturbing their daughter in the slightest.

Later on that night, it had started to storm, as was common in Britain, but Elizabeth was far too gone to really think about what it was because the rain had triggered something worse than a storm. A terrible nightmare.

* * *

_The heavy rain was whipping at her as she ran, her legs and throat burning like her chest and eyes did, watered-down blood covering her arms and face_

_as she shoved branches and palm leaves out of her way, feet catching rocks and tree roots that she stumbled over in her effort to get out of there._

**_*crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch*_ **

* * *

"Elizabeth? Are you alright, my dear? I heard something thump on the floor when I was going downstairs for some water."

* * *

_Boots. Feet. people. Shit! He was coming after her! How did he know she'd gotten out of the ship?!_

_She'd hope she wouldn't notice she was gone, not with that new guy that he'd heaved off the island's surface._

_Sara seemed to know him well, who even was he? She didn't care._

_She just kept running, pulling herself up a vine and swinging through the tree limbs that stuck out closest to her,_

_feet and body dangling in what felt like freefall as she kept going, launching from tree to tree._

**_*crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch*_ **

* * *

"Princess?" Mycroft asked again for his daughter, knocking lightly on her door, but received no answer.

* * *

_The boot sounds of squelching leaves were suddenly right underneath her and there was a shout as her foot was suddenly snagged in a gloved hand and she was sharply pulled down,_

_losing her grip and hitting the ground hard, her whole body stinging and ears ringing as she saw shapes closing in around her, pushing herself up to get ready for when they did..._

* * *

Entering the room quickly, Mycroft found that his daughter had rolled off her bed and was looking out the window on her knees, eyes glossed over in seemingly a daze.

"Elizabeth?" He called sharply, but receiving yet again, no reaction. "Dear, can you hear me? Are you ok?" He went up to her and put a hand on her shoulder to shake her out of whatever was happening to her, but she suddenly turned and jumped on him, yelling at him in Russian and pinning him to the floor with an arm over his throat in a chokehold. Had he been here for more than a few minutes, he would have most certainly lost consciousness, if it weren't for Greg somehow sensing something was going to happen and dragging his own daughter off of him, wheezing from his position on the floor.

After checking Mycroft was okay, Greg turned with scared eyes to the figure standing on the other side of the room, diving at things invisible to both her parents and still yelling out. "Princess? Princess, please, wake up! It's alright!" Greg couldn't help himself and despite the danger, went and clasped her by the shoulders, lifting her off the floor and shaking her like a dog.

That seemed to do the trick as something snapped behind her as and she became dazed again, looking like she just woke up. "What the..." She was panting, looking around with wide eyes at her soroundings. "I was dreaming...I was being attacked." She grabbed herself, fingers digging crescents into her arms. "There were so many of them, they were everywhere..."

"You attacked you father, young lady!" said Greg "I know we said we wouldn't push you, but this is important. You could have seriously hurt him!"

"Oh my god, I'm sorry." She said, looking scared as she looked between them. "I was out of it...I didn't mean it, please..." She looked like she could burst into tears in that very moment, so Mycroft, despite the pain in his back and neck, rushed to calm her. "We're not angry, darling girl. We just want to help. What happened? Did they force you into... unsavoury situations that required you to defend yourself like that?"

She hesitated, before speaking calmly. Too calmly. "No. I was just kept in that apartment, did school online as apparently, I could use a computer, but not fully. it was rigged, same with the interest wired to the place. I couldn't send e-mails or help letters. Nothing. Their way of torturing both my head and heart I guess. I was let out for an hour usually surrounded by guards or under the eye of a sniper laser point and most of the time I wasn't sitting there thinking about here, I was 'trained' half the time to suffer."

"What did they have you do, during that time when you are made to 'suffer'?" Greg asked, but immediately regretted it, realising his method was completely wrong.

This was his /daughter/ for Christ's sake, not some suspect. You don't interrogate your daughter!

"I'm just saying babes-" He reached out to take her hand and put his other rover it, comforting. "That move you pulled was professional. That was a military pin. Someone had to have taught you that, no other way about it."

"I don't know how I did it. I don't even remember if they could have taught me it or not." She lied, pretending to look innocent and on the verge of a breakdown. Exactly as planned. "I seriously don't know, I just keep having nightmares and then I just attack people. It's not the first time this has happened. It's been happening on and off the last 3 years. It's crazy...you think I'm crazy."

"No, Lizzie, baby, no." Greg quickly embraced her, holding her close to him like he used to when she was only a couple months old. "You aren't crazy, sweetheart. We can just tell there's something more wrong than we first thought and we're just trying to figure out how we can help you. We're family, we trust each other, we help each other."

"I know, believe me, I know. I really missed that." She hugged him tightly, before reaching out over to her elder father and kissing him on the cheek. "I'm so sorry."

"It's alright, darling. After John examines you in the morning, I'm sure we can arrange for other services to be put in place to help you." said Mycroft "But if something like this happens again, we'll be asking more probing questions and I don't want to resort to that." His tone was ominous, a warning tone. that made her nod in agreement. "Alright, goodnight, my dear."

"Goodnight." She whispered, waiting until both men were gone before she let a breath out, looking down at the bottom of the bed where the handle of the duffel bag peeked out, her head turning to look at the clock on the wall. 2 AM. She still had time.

"They can't know my secret, they can't know the truth." She muttered, almost like she was saying a small prayer before her hand closed around the duffel bag strap and pulled.

She never slept again the whole night.


	4. Family Ties

Elizabeth didn't re-emerge (or suddenly go after her parents for bloodsport) until the next morning. She had come out to take a shower given that her own shower while usually working, hadn't so much as spit a drop of water at her the night before. So, instead, she had to take a shower downstairs in the 'public' bathroom as it were. Taking off her clothes, it showed hundreds of scars everywhere on her whole body, shoulders, torso, a few in the legs, but still enough to cause worry. As she heard from Greta, their cook (who honestly was a breath of fresh air to talk to, given Greta was German and she didn't really feel like speaking English today) most of her new and some old clothing were washed and in the laundry, so she had no choice after breakfast and the shower, but to go downstairs in nothing but her light grey yoga pants and a bra while on her search.

O course, this setting sadly showed all of her scars off to the world and given she couldn't remember the layout of the house very well, she passed the loungeroom to go looking, not noticing that people were in there.

"Elizabeth!" She heard a gasp come from her left and came face to face with her father, his eyes wide as he stumbled over to her. "Did...they do this to you?' His face was stony, but you could see the anger and guilt bubbling up underneath it, his movements incredibly gentle as he reached out to grasp her arm and she backed away from him as soon as he came near. "I have to get a shirt." She said lowly, seeing what she hoped was the laundry room door out of the corner of her eye and entering it quickly, shutting it and locking it behind her with her back pressed on it as the doorbell rang.

She knew it was only family that was coming today. Given the time, standing at the door would Uncle John, Uncle Sherlock, Rosie and Hamish, which proved correct as she heard her female cousin's excited chattering as she blindly in the darkened room for some article of decent, scar covering clothing.

"Good morning, brother. Dr Watson, Hamish, Rosemund." Mycroft greeted in turn, the events that happened in front of him giving him cause for concern as he pulled John aside. "John, I think we have a problem. I wouldn't usually press the issue, but you might want to do your medical examination of my daughter sooner than expected..."

Meanwhile, during this exchange, Elizabeth hid away and didn't come out until they were all seated and her parents were starting to tell them of her behaviour in the last night, which as she emerged wearing a light grey sweatshirt from her youth, was posied by John to ask if she might have PSTD. Of course,e she would have let them talk longer, if it weren't for Rosie seeing and making a straight beeline for her excitedly.

"Cessa! Cessa! Cessa!" The excitable 13-year-old launched herself onto the placid girl, who folded around her carefully with a chuckle. "Well hey there to you too, Rosie Posie. Good to see you."

Hamish, looking pretty much more handsome than ever (but don't say a word to him) also jumped up from the couch and rushed over, a vibrating mess of black curls and blue eyes, unlike his blonde-haired half-sister.

He had also inherited Uncle Sherlock's height over the last 7 years, bringing him even with herself, even though she was 2 years younger than him and obviously given their current situation, a lot more fucked up.

"Hey you." He grinned, relief in his eyes as he looked over her. "Hi Mish..." He still had that way of making her feel gooey inside, like she could just fall apart and stare into those blue eyes forever. "How's it going?"

"Mate, I missed you so much!" She laughed as he quickly grabbed her, picking her up off her feet and hugging him tightly. She smiled at John from his shoulder like her old self, trying to will off suspicion.

"Hello, Miss Cessa." Her Uncle John grinned back, the same look ion his eyes as Hamish's had. "It's good to have you back". Her Uncle Sherlock smiled as well, but remained silent, watching her carefully. His stare unnerved her and she almost glared back, but refrained. She needed to make them think that nothing was wrong and throw the heat off of herself and her behaviour. Fast.

She made out like she still had tenderness in her supposedly broken ankle, her limp on full display as Hamish helped her over to the couch so she could lean on it, her Uncle clearing his throat.

"I know we've just seen each other again, but I would really like to examine you as soon as I can.Give you a checkup, you know? Your Dad was just saying you still have old injuries?"

"Sure." She smiled as if nothing was wrong, but she was sure either Uncle or one of her fathers noticed how her eyes narrowed in anger. "Should I take off my shirt or any clothing while we're here?"

While Hamish blushed and went bright pink, hiding his face away, John hastily stood, brow furrowed.

"We'll do it in your bedroom, if you don't mind." He said, glancing at the other adults in the room for possible comment, which of course, he got none, but it obviously spooked everyone like rabbits in retrospect. A teenage girl who is willing to strip off in front of men, grown men and family at that, was not a good sign in the line of healthy mentally or physically.

"Oh fine." She sighed, finally agreeing and shaking her head ruthfully. "I see how it is. I could lay naked on this floor as many times as I wanted as a paint-covered or after bathtime child and yet, you don’t want to have me lying naked on the living room floor in a public display of my defiance for clothing and my own self-loathing. I see now how the ambience of the house and its property value dies." Hamish went into a guffawing spell of laughter at that, making her smirk as she left the room.

"...Right." John nodded to himself before following her upstairs to the bedroom, where he helped her sit down. As soon as he shut the door behind him, he took a seat at her old study desk from back when she was still in high school and frowned solemnly at her, eyes already on the lookout for medically relevant signs form her. "Right, Cessa. You can stop the act. You and I both know you don't want this exam to go ahead, I can't blame you for saying that, given what you might have been though, but your fathers are concerned, so I'd appreciate if you don't go treating me like an idiot during this."

"Uncle John, I was never planning to." She just raised an eyebrow at him, sitting on her bed as John's frown became deeper given the sing-song tone fo her voice. "I'm married to Sherlock Holmes, and I've dealt with dozens of teenage girls trying to put on acts in front of me. Now, since you're 22 and therefore, past the stage of being a minor, medical privilege comes into play. I can't repeat anything that's said here without a warrant or a waiver from you consenting to it. So, talk to me Cessa. Anything you want to tell me, you can. I won't be able to tell your fathers, or I'll lose my medical license and God knows I need that."

"Really?" She just shrugged after a moment, eyes darker than normal as she spoke. "Well, sadly, there's nothing to tell /Dr/ Watson, I'm fine. I may not be here and there,e but I will recover, as everyone does."

"It's fine also to know when you need help." He pressed on her. "Given what I've heard already, it's possible you may have PTSD, which I wouldn't be surprised by at all. You've been though a lot of your father's word is to be believed, as apparently you are covered in scars. Have you had any broken bones in the last few years?"

She nodded at the question gently. "Oh, yeah. Plenty."

"How many is "plenty"?" Uncle John asked her, raising an eyebrow. "Just...give me a ballpark figure, if you can."

She knew that she couldn't give him an exact number (it was 32) as that would seem suspicious, so she pretended to try and think, swallowing. "They...kept me pretty drugged up while I was with them. Like really out of my mind, half-asleep drugs. Roofies, practically. As far as I can remember...10% of my body is covered in scar tissue, I have healed second-degree burns on my back and shoulders and on the last count, I have...some giant number of healed fractures and also that haven't properly healed, but not sure how many. I've also been...sexually assaulted...multiple times. That's all I know. My memory's not great."

"Jesus, alright. I see." Her Uncle barely was able to cover the look between horror and professionalism that he obtained before it melted into pure indifference. "Well, we might as well get the physical over with, so if you could just remove your shirt, I can take a look at all of this." As asked, she carefully took off her shirt, showing him the scars and other wound sites, staring up at the ceiling. "I will tell my fathers myself when I'm ready."

John hummed as he examined each scar individually. it was tense between them before, finally, her Uncle piped up again. "You know I was in the army, right?" Before I met your Uncle?"

She just closed her eyes, holding back a groan. She knew this was coming. "Yeah, I remember. I heard Dad start to tell you that I pulled a military pin on him before I came in the room."

"Of course, I don't mean no harm, it's just..." John bit his lip. "...the one he described that you pulled, it's quite advanced. Not something you can just pick up from watching TV or the internet something like you say you were exposed to in your time while kidnapped. You have to be very carefully trained to use it. Which requires hours of practice and yet, you weren't allowed to leave your apartment for more than an hour at a time and were 'tortured' as you put it every day for 7 years straight. Which leaves only one option in my eyes that you can agree with me on or not. Your captors trained you somehow and either you don't remember or you are refusing to tell us why and how they did it."

All of this was said mildly, still examining the wounds on her body, even as she twitched and the look on her eyes became alight as he spoke. "Don't bother denying it, if I'm wrong. I'm just telling you what I know"

"Think whatever you'd like, I'm not saying whether it's true or not." She shrugged, her shoulders rolling, a feat given they were so tense as she spoke. "Doesn't bother me, patient/doctor privilege remember?" John repeated, nodding with her. "It just...seems like you may have done more than stay shuttered up in an apartment in one of the most densely populated cities in the world is all."

"I..." She shook her head, the pressure and obvious jabbing and pushing too much and she shot up from the bed where she had been sitting. "Forget it." She pushed him away, pulling her shirt back on. "This is over."

John sat back, obviously knowing he was right, but steadfast as he tried to stop her. "Your fathers are insisting on you having this exam so we know where to go next with treatment, we can do it in silence if you want."

"No, Uncle, this is /over/." She growled, making him arch back a little more as she went and grabbed her duffel bag, limping out of the room to go downstairs in a huff. Following closely behind her, John's eyes tracked the bag she carried, noticing several odd shapes inside of it that didn't look like clothing. He came back into the living room and began murmuring to Sherlock quietly as she just walked past and suddenly slammed the front door behind her, gone by the time her family rushed out to confront her.

She was going to have to be more careful around them if the plan she'd fought so hard to get going was going to be successful.


End file.
